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Relief flowed through me. I paid close attention to my intuition, and everything in me told me what I shared with Colton was real and pure. That it wasn’t tainted because he’d dated my sister. Maybe frowned upon by outsiders, but what was between us was nice.
“Does that help?”
“It does. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“We were young. He was a nice guy. I think we were waiting for college, and then we—or, at least, I got caught up in the social life. I felt like I was missing out by having a boyfriend so far away. We were in two different places then.”
“I get it. Thanks for telling me.” Ending the call, I felt better about dating Colton, but I still wondered what he was so reluctant to share.
Chapter Sixteen
COLTON
“We got some video on your tagger,” Dexter said when I walked into work.
“Yeah?” I rounded his desk to get a look at what he was seeing on his computer.
“There’s a new store across the street. It’s still under construction, but the owner installed cameras first thing.”
“That’s smart.” I braced my hands on his desk.
Dexter pulled up the satellite image of the street and shops nearby. “I think it’s going to be a coffee shop.”
“I want to see the video.” My words were clipped.
Dexter was good at his job but enjoyed talking to people. That meant he was full of gossip and unnecessary details.
He held up a hand. “Got it. Just the bare bones.”
I chuckled. “You know me so well.”
He glanced at me, then back at his screen. “You seem different today.”
Straightening, I assessed how I felt. I did feel lighter, happier. Even though I hadn’t told Remi everything, last night and this morning had been amazing. She opened me up to the possibility of a future with her.
There was still Delilah and my past hanging over us, but I wondered if she’d forgive me for what happened in the past. The real question was could I forgive myself? Was there something in that meditation stuff that absolved you of your guilt and sense of responsibility?
“Here it is.” He played the video; it was dark and grainy, and the shot was from across the street, but you could see someone in a hoodie painting the window.
“It’s a kid.”
“How do you know—” Dexter rewound it and played it back.
I pointed at the screen. “Look how tall he is compared to the door and the sign on the window.”
“Good catch. What do you say he is, middle school age?”
“Twelve to fourteen, maybe.” But we had nothing else to go on. We watched the video several times, and he never turned in the direction of the camera.
“It’s something.”
“But not enough.” I slapped the desk.
Dexter gestured at the screen. “It’s annoying, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s not a big deal.”
“I hear ya.”
“You emotionally invested in this one?” Dexter joked, then he caught the expression on my face. “Oh, shit, you are. You know the juice shop girl.”
